1) I own no recognizable materials
2) The Cover art was done by "Fuzzy-Peanut-Butter" on Deviantart.
3) I KNOW THIS STARTS OFF A BIT CONFUSING BUT I SWEAR EVERYTHIGN GET SEXPLAINED IF YOU JUST KEEP READING
your body
a holy sepulcher
that my spirit
rises from.
my body
that pair of old jeans
that fits you
the best.
our body
an unknown cosmos
where self and self
are lost
in the darkness
of one
-Eric Cockrell
The Healer looked down at the body of the man lying back-up on the operation table. His name was Healer Calms the Spirit, one he'd earned through the years and carried with pride. He didn't know the name of the unconscious man in front of him, but it hardly mattered—after the insertion, the man's name would become irrelevant—when he woke, the inserted Soul will choose a new name for himself. He may choose the host's, he may not.
As the Healer's assistant, Woven Rose Petals, began the thaw sequence for the cryotank that held the Soul to be inserted, Healer Calms the Spirit tucked a lock of raven hair that had fallen into the man's face back behind his ear. He was truly beautiful for a Human, with his shoulder length black hair, tall slender frame, high narrow cheekbones, and eyes the clearest shade of emerald Calms the Spirit has ever seen.
The man looked nothing now like the bleeding corpse he had been when he'd stumbled through their doors a few days ago. The Healer remembered how man had collapsed in front of them, bleeding from several large gashes all over his body, his arm severely broken, and nearly all of his ribs cracked, if not snapped all together. While he was perfect now, not a single scar to show for his injuries, Healer Calms the Spirit couldn't help but wonder how it was he had gotten that way. How did a human man get such wounds in the heart of Manhattan, a city long since civilized by the Souls? Surely no Soul would commit such an act—would even find it possible to be so cruel—and no domesticated animal could have done such damage, nor were there any wild animals running loose to do so.
The only thing anyone could think would do this to the human would be another human. That was why Healer Calms the Spirit was here today, many days before he would usually insert a soul into a host body that had been wounded so. The Seekers feared that if this man could be so far into the city with wounds such as these, it may mean that there are other humans too, and if they were willing to do such damage to their own kind… Well, the Seekers didn't want them to be a danger to the Souls. The Soul inserted today would be assigned to help them, to find the memories of this human and tell the Seekers all he had known.
"Why are you frowning, Cal?" asked Woven Rose Petals suddenly from beside him, using his shortened nickname. Her voice was soft and held much concern for him. She had every right to be, too. Souls are happy creatures and it was rare, even in these irrational human bodies, for them to feel any kind of negative emotion.
"I was only thinking on this host and what he might know," he answered, turning to her with a smile of reassurance.
"Ah. I hope he will be able to handle the memories- the Soul, I mean," she said. "I wouldn't want to be the one that had to relive them, not with those wounds."
"Speaking of the Soul," Calms the Spirit said, "Is he ready?"
"Yes, yes. He is," she says, turning away from the healer and back to the cryotank to flip back the safety and spin down the dial. The red light atop the small grey cylinder began to pulse, flashing faster as the seconds passed and changing colors.
Calms the Spirit picked up the scalpel and brought it to the man's pale, exposed neck, and drew it down the host's neck from the base of the skull to make an opening only a few inches long. After spraying on a remedy to stop the bloodflow, and with the skill accumulated from years of practice, he moved his fingers in past the neck muscles to expose the white bone of the top of the spinal column.
"Alright, he's ready."
Woven Rose Petals nodded as she moved into view from the other side of the operation table, the Soul gently cupped in her palms. This Soul was beautiful to the Healer, as were all the souls he's seen. He has never seen an exposed Soul without being struck by the beauty of it. Like a living ribbon he twisted and rippled, stretching, happy to be free of the cryotank. His thin, feathery attachments, of which there were nearly a thousand, billowed softly like pale silver hair.
Woven Rose Petals moved her hands to the opening and the small glistening creature, with the instincts possessed by all Soul, weaves his way into his new home. His attachments wound tightly into place around the nerve center, some elongating and reaching deeper to where the others couldn't see, under and up into the brain, the optic nerves, the ear canal, down into the arms and legs, weaving himself into every part of his new home, until only one small part of his body is visible.
"Wonderful," Woven Rose Petals said, moving her hands away so that Calms the Spirit could finish his job. It was a routine matter. He cleaned the wound, applied salve that sealed the incision behind the Soul, and brushed scar-softening powder across the line left on the Soul's neck.
As his assistant began to clean up, Calms the Spirit tucks back the lock of hair that has once more fallen out of place, and leans down to whisper in his ear, even though he knew the unconscious Soul could not hear him.
"Good Luck, little one."